Bruises and Scrapes
by film princess
Summary: <html><head></head>When Stiles comes home bloodied and beaten after his big lacrosse game, Sheriff John Stilinski can't ignore what's been happening to his son any longer and finally confronts him. Hurt!Stiles, concerned!Stilinski, protective!Derek. Tag to "Master Plan", S02E12.</html>
1. Accident Prone

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Jeff Davis and I wouldn't have it any other way!

Summary: When Stiles comes home bloodied and beaten after his big lacrosse game, Sheriff John Stilinski can't ignore what's been happening to his son any longer and finally confronts him. Hurt!Stiles, concerned!Stilinski, protective!Derek. Tag to "Master Plan", S02E12.

Stiles lay still beneath his sheets, facedown on his bed, and glared over at his blaring alarm clock, mentally wishing it would die a horrible death and leave him alone. Every inch of his body ached and he just wanted to lie there for the rest of the day. Hell, maybe the rest of the month.

Between the lacrosse game last night, being shoved down the stairs, Gerard beating him to within an inch of unconsciousness, his ridiculously long walk back home from where he had been released, and then smashing his jeep through the side of a warehouse building to help with the fight against the kanima…

Any and all movement sent bolts of pain along his tenderized nerves.

But the worst pain of all was losing Lydia to Jackson yet again. For the briefest of moments, he actually thought he might stand a chance. But who was he kidding? Just because he won one game, it didn't make him the hot co-captain of the team. She made it obvious that she had a certain type, and Stiles simply wasn't it.

He let out a long, suffering groan and buried his head deeper into his pillow, wishing he could just disappear into it.

Seconds later, a loud knock on his doorframe made him jump, a move he deeply regretted half a second later, and did his best to hide the wince that crossed his face as he craned his neck to glance over at his father.

John could clearly see the raw abrasions on Stiles' cheek when he turned to look at him. He also couldn't ignore the dried blood on his busted lip or the multitude of bruises that weren't quite concealed by the overly large T-shirt he was wearing.

That shirt in particular, temporarily loaned to him by John, made the boy look so small… so fragile. So _broken_.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles grunted out, the awkward angle making it difficult to speak.

The sheriff eyed his son's battered body and registered the wrongness of its lack of hyperactive movement, one horrible thought repeating in his head; this happened on _my_ watch. This happened because I couldn't protect my own son; too busy trying to protect a town that is already beyond saving.

He forced the guilt back down and managed a small smile. "Hey, kid. Brought you some Asprin."

Stiles nodded, then bit the uninjured side of his lip as he carefully turned over and sat up against the headboard to face his father properly.

Every flinch and grimace that crossed Stiles' face drove that knife a bit deeper into John's heart. He had _been_ at that game. Been mere _feet_ away from his son, and yet he had been helpless to stop someone from taking him… From _hurting_ him.

Sure, this wasn't the first time he had ever seen his son in pain. Stiles had always been notoriously accident-prone. It was ridiculous how many boxes of Band-Aids they had gone through when his little boy was growing up.

But this was different. Back then, his injuries were typically due to clumsiness. Back then, Stiles would get a scrape or bruise and come running into John's arms, tears streaming down his reddened face, knowing his daddy would somehow make it all better.

If only it were still that simple.

_These_ injuries had been caused by another human being. Someone had laid a hand on his son, and that thought alone was enough to have John seeing red. Now wasn't the time to fly off the handle though. He needed to stay calm.

John crossed the room, stopping by the side of his son's bed and holding the pills and cup of water out to him.

Stiles took them gratefully. "Thanks."

The sheriff watched his son down the pills, then accepted the empty cup back, placing it on Stiles' side table before shutting off the annoying alarm next to it. The room instantly fell into an awkward and oppressive silence. John cleared his throat.

"So. How're you feelin' today?" he asked lamely, struggling for a way to ease into the serious conversation he knew was imminent.

Stiles had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, having answered that question more times than he could count in the past twelve hours.

"'m fine," he answered back automatically, but he could tell by his father's skeptically raised eyebrow that he didn't believe him, so he tried again; this time, with more conviction. "Seriously, Dad. You don't have to keep checking up on me, okay? It's just a couple of bruises and scrapes. No big deal."

And there it was again… The boldfaced lie that Stiles had been spouting for months. It was almost as convincing as his other favorite line, "I'm fine."

John had given his son space. Boys will be boys after all, and teens would be teens. More often than not, he didn't _want _to know what his kid got up to, but these instances were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

It was clearly intervention time, but where to start?

John scratched at the back of his head, feeling way out of his depths. Claudia was always better at these sorts of talks, but she wasn't here anymore and it was time for him to step up and be the father.

"No, Stiles. It's _not_ just a couple scrapes and bruises, and you're _not_ okay."

He sank down onto the edge of the mattress, resting his knee gently against Stiles' hip, needing some form of contact to assure himself that his boy was right here, safe and sound. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and allowed the words to flow with it.

"Look, kiddo, I know I've been working a lot of crazy hours lately, and we haven't had much time to just sit down and chat like we used to do…"

Stiles was already shaking his head, absolving his father of any self-recriminations that the man was about to list. None of the turmoil in their lives had been his father's fault.

"Dad, don't. I know you're doing your best. We've _both_ been busy lately. You just got your job back, and I bet they dumped all those open cases on you as soon as..."

"I don't need you to make excuses for me, Stiles." The sheriff smiled sadly at his son, patting him gently on one knee in gratitude before continuing. "My job is just that. A job. You're my _son_, and family should always come first. I should've been trying harder. Should've spent more time with you. Made it to more of your games."

Stiles huffed out a laugh that made his bruised ribs ache. He rubbed at them absentmindedly, then when he noticed his father was watching in concern, he dropped his hands into his lap and fiddled with his blanket.

"I've been riding the bench this whole season, Dad. Trust me, you didn't miss much. It would've been a complete waste of your time."

John moved his hand over his son's, stopping him from unraveling the woven material.

"Hey. I don't care if you're in the game or not, alright? You're still part of the team, and I should've been there to support you, just like the other parents. I should've been there for the games, should've been home at night to cook you dinner and help with homework, should've been there the day your mom…"

The sheriff trailed off and Stiles dropped his gaze to his lap, allowing his father time to collect himself with a modicum of privacy. John cleared his throat and squeezed Stiles' hand once more, letting him know he was back in control.

"Sorry, kiddo. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't want to look back in five years and see this moment as being another missed opportunity. I wish like hell that I could go back in time and figure out where I went wrong as a father, but all I can say is that I'm here _now_, and, Stiles, I need you to talk to me, buddy. I need you to be honest with me for once."

_I need you to let me in so I can fix this… So I can make things right between us again._

Stiles hated himself before he even opened his mouth, knowing he had nothing to offer his father but more lies.

"Dad, I already told you what happened after the game. I don't know what else…"

"I'm not just talking about last night, Stiles. You've been acting strangely for weeks now. I was hoping you'd come to me on your own when you were ready, but I suppose I haven't been all that approachable, and now things just seem to be escalating. I can't let this go on any longer."

Stiles swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, shifting slightly in discomfort. He wasn't ready for this conversation yet. Or more to the point, he knew his father wasn't ready to believe the truth. He stalled for time.

"Let _what_ go on, exactly?"

"You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. You've been getting detentions a lot more than usual, I've seen you at multiple crime scenes for reasons unknown… You stole a prison transport vehicle and kidnapped a kid in your grade for crying out loud!"

"Hang on, I told you that was just a prank that got blown way out of proportion. And Mr. Harris hates me. If I cough too loudly in class, he'll give me detention!"

John held up a hand, bringing Stiles' indignant defense to a halt.

"I'm not finished yet. You're jumpy and constantly on edge, you take off without letting me know where you're going, you're out at all hours of the night, then you come home with injuries and bullshit explanations, you've been lying straight to my face ever since that night you boys were out searching for Laura Hale's body in the woods, you…"

"Okay, okay. I get it," Stiles interrupted quietly, unable to listen to his father's lengthy diatribe of all the ways Stiles had failed as a son lately. "You're right, Dad. I'm sorry. I haven't been entirely honest with you about some things, but I swear I lied for the right reasons."

The sheriff frowned intently at Stiles, trying to find the missing information hidden behind the boy's expressive, honey colored eyes. What reason could his kid possibly have for keeping him in the dark? Was this some misguided stage of teenaged rebellion?

"Help an old man out here, son. Is this all just a ploy for attention? Have I been neglecting you _that_ much?"

Stiles looked appalled. "No, Dad! Of course not! This has nothing to do with you. Honestly."

"Are you trying to impress a girl? Maybe that redhead who visited last night?"

Stiles began fiddling with his blanket again, his eyes downcast. "I already told you, she's in love with someone else. I don't think that's ever gonna change now."

John reached forward and lifted Stiles' chin. "Look at me, son. I will sit here and guess all day if that's what it's gonna take, but I'd prefer it if you'd just be straight with me and tell me what's going on. I promise I won't judge or get angry, alright? I'm just trying to understand."

The anguished look in his son's eyes when they eventually met his took the sheriff by surprise. He had seen that look before, in the eyes of key witnesses, and in his own mirror every morning.

And then one small piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"You're trying to protect someone."

Stiles licked at his bottom lip before drawing it into his mouth and sucking on it, a nervous habit that told John he was finally on the right track. He pressed on, hoping to keep the ball rolling.

"This isn't about Scott, is it? Cause if he's doing something illegal..."

This time, Stiles does roll his eyes. "Of course he's not, Dad. This is Scott we're talking about here. The guy doesn't even jaywalk."

"Finally. A statement I can believe. But don't think I haven't noticed how weird _he's_ been acting lately too. His grades are plummeting, he's showing up late for work, cutting classes…"

Stiles rubbed at his eyes, feeling a headache starting to form behind them. "He's a teenager in love, Dad. Of course he's gonna do stupid things every now and then."

"Alright. So it's not Scott. Care to narrow it down some more?"

Stiles' shoulders slumped in exasperation. "Not really, no."

"Why not?" John demanded, hoping the circular discussion would yield some results eventually.

"Can't we just talk about something else? Like how incredibly late I'm gonna be for school now? Speaking of…" Stiles threw off his blankets and moved to stand up but John gripped his upper arm and gently pushed him back down to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Uh uh. Get comfy, kid. You're staying home today."

Stiles blanched. "What? Why?"

"Cause you need some time to rest and recover, and I'm not letting you outta my sight till I know what's going on here!"

Stiles threw his hands up in frustration. "Dad, _nothing_ is going on!"

"Please tell me this wasn't some sort of gang initiation thing…"

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, that's exactly it. And next week we're all getting matching tattoos."

John shook his head, looking as exhausted as Stiles felt. "This isn't a joke, Stiles. And neither is aggravated kidnapping. If what you told me last night really is true, then there are some punks out there who should be facing jail time for that kind of felony."

"Well, then you'd have to lock me up too for what I did to Jackson," Stiles huffed in response, resting his elbows on his knees and fiddling with his fingers like he always did in uncomfortable situations.

John sighed. "You didn't _hurt_ that kid, Stiles. This is different. If someone out there really wants to harm you, there's a good chance they'll try again. And maybe next time, you won't be as lucky."

Stiles dropped his head into his hands. "He already made his point, Dad. It's over now, okay?"

"He?" John's voice was deadly calm.

Stiles' head shot back up, eyes wide as he realized his mistake a little too late. "W-what?"

"You said 'he', Stiles. Last night you kept saying 'they' and 'them', but now you said 'he', as in one guy in particular."

Stiles mouthed wordlessly at the man until his brain finally caught up again. "I… It's just a figure of speech," he tried, his voice cracking on the last word and giving away the lie.

"Nice try, kid." John felt his anger starting to rise. He stood, pacing a few steps away to try and reign in his emotions, then turned back and pointed at Stiles. "You know who it was, don't you."

"Not really, no. I mean…"

"Don't you lie to me again."

"I'm not lying, I-I just… Ugh, crap." Stiles dropped his head back into his hands in frustration.

John knelt down in front of his son, gently tugging his wrists away to get his attention back. "Stiles. This guy that took you… Is he the one you've been protecting? Is this some sort of Stockholm Syndrome?"

Stiles pulled away, looking anywhere but at his desperate father. "No, of course not."

John spoke again- calmly, slowly, and clearly, just like he would with any other victim of violence. "Did he threaten you?"

Stiles almost laughed mirthlessly at the absurdity of the question. Lately, his life was being threatened on a daily basis, sometimes _multiple_ times in a day. But he had a feeling his dad wouldn't appreciate the humor right now. "Define threaten."

"Damn it, Stiles, you need to tell me who did this to you right now so I can deal with them. Just give me a name, son. A description. Something. _Anything_!"

Stiles continued shaking his head in denial, knowing that if he gave up Gerard's name, his father would go after the man and end up facing a whole family of hunters in a war he would not win.

Stiles already felt responsible for what happened to his mother. He wasn't going to be responsible for getting his father killed too. Not over something like this.

John continued to push. "Come on, kiddo. I know you're scared, but I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Was it another student? A spectator? A teacher?"

John didn't know if he wanted to throw up or punch a wall at that last thought. It _would_ make sense though. Another student wouldn't typically be able to scare his son into silence like this, but someone bigger, older, and with higher authority could certainly be intimidating enough.

He was definitely leaning more towards punching something now.

An adult. Someone Stiles trusted to a degree, or at least enough to follow them off the field. Someone Stiles was afraid to tell his father about. Someone who had some sort of grudge against the kid, or maybe…

The sheriff stood back up so abruptly that it made Stiles' head spin, then resumed his pacing, needing an outlet for the anger bubbling up inside of him.

"Adrian Harris. He's trying to get back at me for grilling him on that arson case, and he's taking it out on you. Is that what's been going on at these detentions of his?"

Stiles could understand how his father might have come to that conclusion, but while the teacher was a royal pain in his ass, the man had never tried to cause him physical harm. "Dad, no. It's not like that…"

"The hell it isn't," John barked back, picking up his pace even more. Stiles didn't miss the fact that John's hand had gravitated to the holstered weapon at his hip. "I should've put him away when I had the chance."

"It wasn't Harris, okay?!" Stiles blurted out, his own nerves and frustration starting to get the better of him. At least his words made his father pause for a moment, uncertainty now marring his expression.

"You're sure?" John demanded, watching for any sign that Stiles was lying again.

"Yes! Dad, you've gotta let this go. Trust me when I say there's nothing you can do to change things. You're just gonna make it worse."

"How can you be so nonchalant about all this, Stiles?! You're acting like this sort of thing happens to you every damned day!" John had said it incredulously, trying to make a point. But when Stiles bit his lip and turned his face away, sudden realization hit John like a bag of bricks.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his legs barely stable enough to keep him off the floor. His words were barely above a whisper. "This isn't the first time this has happened, is it."

TBC

A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry it has been so long since I've posted! I was going to make this a one-shot but the story turned out to be much longer than I had expected, so it's going to be a two-parter instead. Please review if you're enjoying it so far!

And for those of you who have asked for another Supernatural story, I do have one in the works. Just need a bit more time to figure out where it's going, and then I'll be posting that one as well. Thank you so much for your continued support and patience!


	2. Part of the Pack

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Jeff Davis and I wouldn't have it any other way!

Summary: When Stiles comes home bloodied and beaten after his big lacrosse game, Sheriff John Stilinski can't ignore what's been happening to his son any longer and finally confronts him. Hurt!Stiles, concerned!Stilinski, protective!Derek. Tag to "Master Plan", S02E12.

Lots of Stilinski feels in this one, and maybe even some Sterek towards the end if you squint!

"This isn't the first time this has happened, is it."

Stiles closed his eyes, trying not to remember how scared he had been when Peter forced him to chauffeur him around after almost killing Lydia, or when Mr. Argent and his hunting buddies shoved him and Jackson into an empty hospital room to have a "not so friendly" chat.

And that's not even including the Argent's fake deputy that dragged him down the police station's hallway or the handful of times the kanima completely paralyzed him and left him for dead.

In retrospect, being kidnapped by a psychotic geriatric for a few hours barely made it onto his top ten list of most traumatizing events in Beacon Hills. So _excuse_ him for wanting to pretend last night never happened rather than rocking himself in a dark corner, balling his eyes out.

Which, of course, was exactly what John felt like doing right then. It wasn't as if he hadn't noticed the discarded bandages and bloodied clothing in the trash over the past few weeks, but he had blamed it on skateboarding incidents, or rough lacrosse practices. Never in his wildest dreams did he think his boy was being abused.

But now with the truth staring him in the face, he couldn't believe he had been able to ignore the fact that his cocky, confident, and sarcastic kid was now closed-lipped and withdrawn. And after their chat last night where Stiles refused to see himself as the hero of the game, it was clear his self-esteem had taken a mortal blow as well.

John was well beyond "punching walls" angry now. He had reached "demolishing buildings like Godzilla" fury. Stiles could see it in his eyes, and it was terrifying.

The teen stood slowly, putting his hands out in front of him to try and placate the man. "Dad, please. Just… Just listen to me for a sec, okay?"

"I've _been _listening, Stiles! But you're not telling me what I need to hear!"

"I don't know what you want me to say!"

John's hands started reaching towards Stiles as if he wanted to shake some sense into the boy, but he quickly curled them into fists and pulled them back instead. "Give me a name, Stiles. I'm not asking anymore."

Stiles shook his head again, taking a step backward. "I can't, Dad. I _won't_."

He hated disappointing his father, but he would prefer that to endangering him. He quickly wiped at the moisture that was gathering at the corner of his eye. He felt weak enough already without dissolving into tears in front of his father, but the room was closing in on him and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

John's mind was on overdrive, sifting through his memory banks and trying to come up with a name he had previously overlooked. Someone Stiles may have mentioned in passing. Someone who got involved in his son's life around the same time Laura Hale's body was found. That's when everything had started falling apart. That's when his boy started evading and lying and… Wait.

A conversation he had with Stiles a while back floated to the surface. It had taken place in the hospital, shortly after Jackson had carried Lydia into the ER with a deep wound in her side.

Stiles had been missing for a while that night too, and when he finally showed up, he had blamed his delay on having lost his car keys. But now John was seeing things through wiser eyes.

Lydia had been attacked by someone or some_thing _the night of their school prom, and when John asked his son if he had seen anything, there had definitely been a hesitation before he claimed total ignorance. The more John thought about that night, the sicker he felt.

Stiles had been flushed from running when he shoved his way through the ER's double-doors, but once he'd had the chance to calm down a bit, there had been a stubborn red mark on his cheek that refused to dissipate.

John had been so caught up with finding Lydia's attacker that he completely failed to realize that his son might have been a victim that night too. What else could have kept Stiles from the girl's side for so long? Hell, even her ex was there before him, and they never did find the jeep's supposedly misplaced keys.

It was a piece of crap, but Stiles loved that jeep. There was no _way_ he'd lose his keys. They were on him at all times, and John should have realized something was amiss the second those words left his son's lips.

His boy had lied to him then, and he was lying to him now. But when the two of them had stepped out into that hospital corridor together, Stiles might have let a clue slip. John could recall their conversation as if it had happened yesterday.

"Stiles, listen… Just go wait with your friends, alright?"

"_Dad, tell me. You know it has something to do with Derek."_

"_What? I thought you two said you barely knew him?"_

"_Alright, we might know him a little better than that…"_

And he hadn't been sure at the time, but he could've sworn that when Matt held the entire police station hostage, he had heard him talking to Stiles and Scott in the other room about Derek as well.

If once was an incident, twice was a coincidence, and three times was a pattern…

"It's that Hale kid, isn't it," he stated so quietly that Stiles wasn't sure he had actually said anything at all.

"What? D-Derek?" Stiles stammered, wondering how on Earth his father had come to that conclusion. _Oh, this is so not good…_

John watched his son's eyes widen to comical proportions and took that as verification. "Damn it… I _knew_ it! I _knew_ he was bad news from the start. You told me you barely knew him, but that was your biggest lie of all, wasn't it?!"

"D-Dad…"

"He was a fugitive wanted for murder, Stiles. _Murder_. Do you understand? I should've known something was off with that kid, the way he hangs out with teenagers all the time…"

Stiles gaped at his raging father, his heart pounding in his chest at how bad this whole situation had become. Derek had taken the fall once before because of him and Scott, that night at the school when the janitor was killed by Peter. Odds were, he wouldn't be too thrilled with having an APB out on him yet again.

Stiles didn't know how to fix this. If he told his father it wasn't Derek, then the man would push him until he cracked and gave up a name. He could lie and lay the blame on someone else he simply didn't like, but that could easily blow up in his face.

His dad was never going to let this go. Stiles' chest began to ache and numbness spread through each of his limbs. _What have I done?_

Now that John was focused solely on Derek, dozens of smaller incidents popped into his head that he had failed to recognize the first time around; Like that one time he had gone up to Stiles' room to congratulate him on making first line and he was sure now that he had heard Stiles say "Derek" as he approached the door.

Then the way his son had acted, barricading his room from his father's view, acting more antsy and erratic than usual… Derek, the fugitive, had been right there on the other side of his son's door, and John had just shrugged off Stiles' weird behavior and walked away.

That criminal had broken into _his _house- into Stiles' _bedroom_ for crying out loud- and John had been completely oblivious. Some cop _he_ turned out to be…

Stiles was starting to feel dizzy and his mouth had gone completely dry. His heart was beating so loudly in his ears that it took him a minute to realize his father must have asked him another question because he was staring at him now, waiting for a response.

When his son blinked back at him stupidly and failed to respond, John stepped closer and tried again, annunciating each word to make sure Stiles heard him clearly this time.

"You tell me right now, son. What. Did. He. Do?" Each scenario that popped into his head was worse than the last, and he hoped like Hell he was barking up the wrong tree.

Stiles finally found his voice again, his own rising temper helping to defer the panic, at least temporarily. "He… _Nothing_, Dad! Just… Just stop, okay?! This isn't a conversation anymore, it's an interrogation!"

John was done beating around the bush. "Fine. You don't want to tell me, I'm taking you to the hospital for some tests."

Stiles balked. "What?! Dad, I don't…!"

"No more arguing. Go get your jacket."

When Stiles stayed rooted to the spot, John surged forward and took his son by the arm and the back of the neck, then guided him towards the stairs. When Stiles regained control of his legs, he twisted out of his father's grasp and stumbled back towards his room, one arm wrapping protectively around his screaming chest.

He had to fix this. He had to do something… _Say_ something!

"You've got it all wrong, Dad! Derek didn't do anything!"

"Stop protecting him!" John shouted, advancing towards his son again.

"I'm _not_!" Stiles yelled back, his face completely red and strained. "Damn it, I'm trying to protect _you_!"

_That _shut John up. He stopped in his tracks, his mind going completely blank for an instant while it dealt with his sudden shock.

Stiles' throat was closing and the whole room was starting to spin around him. He reached out to steady himself on his doorframe but missed and collapsed to the floor.

"Dad… I-I can't…"

"Stiles!" John called out in fear as his boy landed hard on his hands and knees. He was clutching at his chest, gasping for air, and quickly turning from red to blue. John instinctively knew what was happening, and it terrified him. "Oh, God…"

He quickly dropped to the ground by his son's side and pulled him into his arms, one hand firmly pressed against the boy's heart as if that would help to slow it down. It had been years since he had seen Stiles having a panic attack this bad and he felt like he was on the verge of having one himself.

"Stiles, you need to breathe. Come on, kid. Nice and easy." He took to rocking his son gently, something he hadn't done since he found the boy sitting outside his mother's hospital room, head in his hands and looking so lost.

God, what have I done?

"I'm so sorry, Stiles. I shouldn't have pushed you like that."

Stiles grunted in pain, his jaw tightly clenched. "H-hurts…"

He started listing to the right and John cradled his head in the crook of his arm, bending down to press a protective kiss to his temple. "I know, kiddo. I know. Just breathe for me, buddy. You're gonna be okay. I've got ya."

Neither of them heard the bedroom window slide open, or the pair of sneakers that hit the ground so agilely behind them. But the perplexed voice that spoke brought out a deep hatred that John never thought he was capable of feeling.

"Stiles?"

The sheriff whipped around, shielding his son's body with his own while simultaneously pulling his gun from its holster with his left hand and directing it squarely at Derek's chest. "Don't you _dare_ come any closer."

Derek held his hands up in surprise to show he meant no harm, then jutted his chin towards Stiles. "What's wrong with him?"

"You tell me," John hissed back angrily. "You've got a lot of nerve breaking into my son's bedroom again. I should shoot you where you stand."

"D-Dad! W-wait!"

Stiles' limbs flailed wildly as he scrambled for his father's gun hand, trying to get the barrel aimed at anything other than Derek. John tightened his grasp on his son, limiting his weak struggles and causing him to whimper.

Derek's frown deepened and he took a threatening step forward, sensing the fear and desperation emanating off of Stiles.

John cocked the gun. "I said stay _back_!"

"No! P-please! Dad, d-don't!" Stiles gasped out, struggling even harder now.

Tears were streaming down the boy's battered face unchecked and Derek could hear his heart pounding furiously within his chest. He could also hear how labored his breathing was and caught a whiff of the bitter stench of pain. His instinct to protect his pack mate flared and he practically growled at John.

"Let. Him. Go," Derek demanded. He wasn't sure what he had walked in on, but it was pretty clear Stiles' agitation was currently being caused by his father.

"Over my dead body," John growled back. "You're not gonna take my son away from me again."

Derek's anger morphed into confusion at that and his focus kept alternating between the two Stilinski men. "What are you talking about?"

"I know what you did to him, you son of a bitch…"

Derek locked eyes with a barely conscious Stiles, waiting for some kind of cue as to how he should diffuse the situation. He wasn't a fan of getting shot, but as far as he knew, the sheriff wasn't aware of the supernatural yet, so odds were, he was using standard issue bullets and Derek would take the hit if he had no other choice.

But Stiles shook his head weakly, fighting to keep his eyes open, so Derek slowly took a step back instead, hoping it would help calm the irate father down.

"Sir, I'm not here to cause any trouble. If you want me to go, I'll go. But first, let me help your son."

John scoffed. "I think you've helped him enough already. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head."

Derek knew he could take the man down in seconds, or at the very least, disarm him, but the desperation that was coming off of Stiles in waves told him he better cooperate for now and see how things played out. He didn't actually want to hurt the sheriff anyway if he could avoid it.

He slowly dropped to the ground and did as he was told, never taking his eyes off the gun.

As soon as Derek surrendered, John looked down at his boy who was painfully sobbing in his lap and found himself torn between never letting his son go and getting up to cuff Derek before the guy had any bright ideas. Where was backup when you needed them?

Derek could see the uncertainty in the man's eyes and decided to try his luck with words.

"Sheriff, listen to me. I don't know what you think I've done here, but the man who hurt your son? He's been taken care of. I swear to you, he will never come after Stiles again."

Stiles stiffened in John's arms, having been completely unaware of what had transpired with Gerard last night. By the time he had driven through that wall, the old man had disappeared and Stiles' sole focus had been on protecting Lydia.

"Define 'taken care of'," John bit out, not liking how the words sounded.

Derek sighed. "Does it really matter?"

John was appalled with himself when he realized that no, he _didn't_ really care if that meant the perp was dead. In fact, he felt a sadistic pleasure at the very thought, and part of him wished _he_ had been the one to put the man down instead.

And he thought he had felt nauseous before.

John clenched his jaw against the bile that was making its way up the back of his throat. Derek saw the man pale and knew exactly what was going through his mind. He hadn't always been a killer after all.

He kept talking, hoping to get the sheriff refocused on what really mattered.

"My point is, it's over, sir. Your son is safe. I need you to believe me."

"Why should I?" John bit out, a part of him wanting to just pull the trigger and be done with it. He would never do that in front of his son though unless he had absolutely no other choice.

"In truth? Your son saved my life not so long ago." John quirked an eyebrow at that, but stayed quiet and let Derek continue. "I'm just trying to return the favor. Please. Let me help him, and then I'll do whatever you want. You have my word."

"And what exactly is it that you think you can do for my son that I can't?"

"I can ease his pain."

John bristled at that, his grip tightening on the gun, and on Stiles. "That sounds an awful lot like a threat to me."

Derek sighed. "It's not what you think."

"Enlighten me."

"It's a…. _technique_ I learned from my family. Think of it like pressure points."

"If you think I'm gonna let you 'Vulcan nerve pinch' my son, you've got another thing coming."

Derek looked completely baffled now. "Huh?"

John huffed in annoyance. "Never mind."

Stiles was becoming heavier in his grasp by the second, his breaths more shallow and labored. The boy tried to anchor himself by clutching onto his father's sleeve but his fingers wouldn't cooperate. Instead, he scrabbled weakly at the strong arm wrapped around his chest, using whatever energy he had left to draw his father's attention away from Derek.

John looked down again to see his son's eyelids flutter closed, then the boy went completely limp in his arms.

"Stiles? Hey, stay with me, kid!" he tried, but his son didn't respond. Now that the boy wasn't struggling against him, John was able to switch the gun over to his right hand and he started fumbling for the phone in his back pocket. "That's it. I'm calling 9-1-1."

Derek had to keep repeating his mantra in his head to dial back his frustration, preventing his fangs from descending and his eyes from flashing red. He needed to stay calm if he was going to get through to the man in front of him.

"There's no time for that, Sheriff. If he doesn't get some relief soon, he's going to go into cardiac arrest. Keep your gun on me if it makes you feel better, but let me at least _try_ to help him."

John was torn. He knew how he was supposed to handle this situation as a cop, but as a father… Desperate times and all that.

"Fine. You get my son breathing easier, and I'll reconsider burying you in my backyard."

"Fair enough."

John motioned him forward with the business end of the gun. Derek slowly lowered his arms from behind his head and moved towards the Stilinskis.

"Lay him down flat. That angle won't be helping him breathe any easier."

Derek was referring to the uncomfortable looking position Stiles' head had ended up in when the sheriff switched gun hands while keeping his boy propped up with the same arm.

As much as John didn't want to relinquish his son, he knew Derek was right. He eased Stiles down to the floor and straightened his neck out, allowing his hand to rest on Stiles' cheek for just a moment. He was hot and sweaty to the touch.

Derek appeared by Stiles' other side, looking to the sheriff one more time for permission to do what he needed to do. John looked into the guy's steadfast and confident gaze before lowering the gun, nodding his consent, and moving back to give Derek more space with which to work.

Derek leaned over Stiles, lifting each of his eyelids and tapping gently at his face.

"Stiles? Can you hear me?"

No response.

Derek shook Stiles by the shoulder, then tried again a bit harder when his first attempt didn't garner any results. "Stiles!"

The boy's head lolled limply to the side, but other than that, he didn't move. Derek knew unconsciousness was the body's way of protecting itself against excessive pain, and he knew the only way Stiles was going to wake up again was if Derek brought the pain levels down to something more manageable.

But how was he going to do that without John seeing the black lines streaking up his veins? The man was watching his every move like a hawk. Derek gritted his teeth, then began rolling up his jacket sleeves.

"Sir, I don't have time to explain, but the pressure points I mentioned earlier will only work with skin-to-skin contact. I… I have to touch him. Just, don't shoot me, alright?"

"No promises," John warned, raising the gun once again to Derek's head. "Watch yourself, Hale."

Derek nodded, then slowly lifted the hem of Stiles' shirt and slid his hand beneath it, placing his palm flat against the boy's chest and marveling at how fast his heart was still pounding even while unconscious.

_This is gonna suck. _

Derek let out a slow breath, then began the uncomfortable process of extracting Stiles' pain. He could feel it burning its way up through his fingers and into his own body.

Derek was used to pain. It came with the territory of being a werewolf after all, but he couldn't help but be amazed at the level of pain Stiles had been able to withstand, especially since he was only human. His respect for the kid raised a few notches, not that he would ever admit that out loud.

A moan of discomfort slipped through Stiles' lips and Derek winced, fully expecting John to put a bullet through his head. But to his surprise, John was lowering the gun again, his eyes locked on his son.

"He's coming around," the man whispered in baffled awe.

The boy's breathing was starting to become more regular and his heartbeat was steadying. But now Derek could feel the tremors beginning beneath his hand as the adrenaline finally seeped from Stiles' system. He just hoped it hadn't done too much damage first.

"Stiles?" he tried again when the kid's brow furrowed and he began to shift, fighting his way back to consciousness. Derek turned his attention back to the stunned man on Stiles' other side.

"Grab a blanket. It'll be a few minutes before his body temperature will be able to regulate itself again."

As John moved to pull the comforter off of his son's bed, Derek retracted his hand from beneath Stiles' shirt and flexed it with a grimace as the final streaks of black slowly absorbed into his skin.

Stiles cracked his eyes open with a groan and stared up at his ceiling in confusion. _What the hell just happened?_

And then it all came flooding back to him: Gerard, the beating, his father's anger, Derek showing up, the gun… _Oh, crap._

Stiles sat bolt upright, looking around wildly but seeing nothing because his vision instantly blurred due to the abrupt return to vertical.

A firm hand quickly latched onto his shoulder and held him steady. "Whoa! Slow down there, numbnuts. Give yourself a minute to adjust, will ya?"

Stiles blinked heavily a few times until the blurred image in front of him morphed back into a very concerned looking Derek.

"Thank god…" Stiles whispered, so relieved that Derek wasn't dead (and that his father hadn't become a murderer) that he lurched forward and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck.

Derek tensed in surprise, completely dumbstruck at the unexpected reaction, then he awkwardly patted the kid on the back.

"You're alright," Derek stated softly. "Just take it easy."

Stiles was vaguely aware that at some point in the near future, he'd be mortified that he was actually hugging _Derek Freakin' Hale_, but for the moment, he couldn't have cared less.

His eyes sought out and locked onto his father who had just turned back to them with the comforter in his hands. They were _both_ okay then. No one had died today because of him. And suddenly, he could breathe again.

John stared at the hugging boys, only now starting to understand how wrong he had been about this whole situation. He still might not trust Derek, but it was clear the kid wasn't the one who had been abusing Stiles. If anything, it seemed like he had been protecting him all this time, and for that, John was grateful.

John knelt back down on the floor by his son and carefully wrapped the comforter around his shoulders. Stiles finally released Derek and threw himself into his father's arms, squeezing his eyes shut as his tears started to flow again, this time in pure relief. He clutched at the back of his dad's shirt, bunching the fabric into tight fists.

John held his son close, one arm across his shoulders and the other cradling the back of his head. His own tears were threatening to fall now that the danger had finally passed.

Derek stayed where he was, watching the moving scene and feeling a pang of regret that his own family had never been quite that close. The Stilinskis had something special, and he was honored to bear witness to it.

John mouthed a heart-felt 'thank you' to him over Stiles' shoulder and Derek nodded back with a weak smile. Sure, he and Stiles didn't always get along, but he had grown fond of the kid.

Stiles wasn't just a friend, he was family now. He was _pack_. And after losing Erica and Boyd to some other alpha, and losing Isaac to Scott… He knew he would die to protect what little he had left.

He made a vow to himself, then and there, that _no_ one- aside from himself of course- would ever lay a hand on the kid again.

THE END

Except not, because there will be an epilogue coming soon as well! Please review if you've enjoyed this story so far, and thanks so much for reading!


	3. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Jeff Davis and I wouldn't have it any other way!

Summary: When Stiles comes home bloodied and beaten after his big lacrosse game, Sheriff John Stilinski can't ignore what's been happening to his son any longer and finally confronts him. Hurt!Stiles, concerned!Stilinski, protective!Derek. Tag to "Master Plan", S02E12.

Stiles really didn't want to let go of his father, but the questions that were flooding through his overactive mind wouldn't let him rest until he got some answers. He _was_ his dad's son after all. Stiles slowly pulled away.

"Hey, uh… Dad? Do you think I could talk to Derek alone for a sec?"

John wasn't thrilled with the idea, but he supposed he owed the guy a bit of trust after having just saved his son's life. He exhaled heavily.

"Alright. Five minutes. And I'll be right outside the door if you need me." He gave Derek one more warning glance before rising stiffly to his feet and exiting the room.

"Your father hates me," Derek muttered plainly, after the door clicked shut.

Stiles snorted. "Nah. I think he's really warming up to you. Just, you know, don't do anything illegal in his presence and you'll be fine."

"Yeah, right. In this town, that's easier said than done."

"I've noticed. Hey, speaking of… What the hell did you think you were doing crawling through my window while my _dad_ was here, dude? As if he wasn't already suspicious enough. And would it kill you to knock next time before letting yourself in? This _is_ my bedroom after all, you perv."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"I got a text from Scott saying you weren't at school today so I figured I should come by and check on you after what happened last night. I uh…" He shot an uncomfortable glance towards the closed door. "I didn't think your dad would be home."

Stiles knew that was Derek's attempt at apologizing for the intrusion and decided to let him off the hook. "It's fine. Honestly, your timing couldn't have been more perfect. He's one hell of an interrogator, and if you hadn't shown up when you did, it would've gotten uglier fast. Sorry he almost shot you though."

Derek shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time I got shot sneaking through a window."

Stiles gaped at him, not sure if he was being serious or not, then decided he really didn't want to know either way.

Derek's eyes locked onto the raw looking wound on Stiles' cheek. He reached out and took hold of the boy's chin, tilting it for better lighting. He winced in sympathy when he got his first real glimpse of the damage. "He got you pretty good, huh?"

Stiles shrugged back, mirroring Derek's move from a minute ago. "Not the first time I've been beaten up by an old guy, either."

Derek quirked an eyebrow and dropped his hand, relatively sure Stiles was just messing with him. He moved on.

"I'm guessing by his reaction you haven't told your dad who did this to you yet?"

Stiles tugged the comforter tighter around his shoulders, trying to suppress a chill that ran through his body at the thought, then shook his head. "No. He's got enough on his plate already without starting a blood feud with the Argents."

Derek nodded in understanding, then glanced away. "Look, Stiles… I know Gerard went after you to get to me…"

Stiles sat up a bit straighter, immediately going on the defensive. "I didn't tell him anything, Derek. I swear."

"I know. I just… I wanted to say thanks. Not many people would've done that for me."

"That's what a pack's for, right? We look out for each other. 'Enemy of my enemy' and all that." Stiles shifted slightly in discomfort, his knees and calves starting to ache from the way they were folded beneath him.

Derek was looking concerned again. "What's wrong? Is the pain still bad?"

"No, not really. Just a leg cramp I think."

"Come on. Let's get you off the floor before you lose feeling in them cause there's no way I'm carrying you if that happens."

Stiles knew he was lying, but he allowed Derek to pull him to his feet anyway and the leather-clad werewolf gently guided him back to the bed.

Stiles sank gratefully onto the edge of the mattress, feeling completely drained and wishing he could just crawl back beneath the blankets and call it a day. Instead, he watched in silence as Derek spun Stiles' computer chair around and straddled it so he could rest his arms on the back cushion.

Stiles bit his bottom lip, debating on whether or not he wanted to ask the question that had been bugging him since Derek's odd statement earlier. Curiosity eventually won out.

"So, Gerard…" he began.

Derek frowned. "What about him?"

"He's… He's really dead, right?" Stiles asked quietly, making damned sure his father wouldn't be able to hear him on the other side of that door. "You know, as in gone for good?"

"If he's not, he will be soon."

When that didn't seem to comfort the boy much, Derek launched into an explanation of how Scott planned to take the old man down without telling anyone, and how Gerard's desperation to live ended up being his undoing. It was poetic, really.

"He managed to crawl off when we weren't looking, but considering how much mountain ash he ingested, it's only a matter of time till he turns up dead in a ditch somewhere."

"And the mountain ash pills… That was all Scott's idea?"

"Surprisingly, yeah."

"Huh." Stiles had to admit he was impressed. More than that, he was kicking himself for not having thought of it first.

"Maybe your IQ is starting to rub off on him a little," Derek announced with a quick smirk, and unless Stiles was very much mistaken, there was a hint of pride in the older boy's tone.

"Guess so. Maybe his strength will start to rub off on me a little then, ya think?" He tried to make it sound like a light-hearted joke, but Derek already knew him too well.

"Physical strength isn't everything, Stiles."

"No, but it sure doesn't hurt to have it in a fight." Stiles dropped his gaze at that admission, feeling even more pathetic for having said it out loud.

"Hey." Derek waited till Stiles looked back up at him. "Gerard was a trained hunter with an entire _family_ of hunters for backup. What happened to you wasn't because you were weak.

"I think he targeted you because he knew that if _you_ broke, the rest of the pack would follow. But no matter what he did, you managed to come through it okay, and I'd say that makes you stronger than all of us. Of course, if you repeat that to anyone, I'll deny it, then kick your ass."

Stiles huffed out a laugh, but sobered shortly after when another thought hit him.

"You know, Peter offered me the bite once." Derek's eyes instantly narrowed, but Stiles kept talking before he could interrupt. "Said I could be every bit as powerful as Scott, maybe more. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. Maybe if I had said yes, I wouldn't be the stupid sidekick anymore. Maybe I'd finally be able to _help_ you guys instead of being such a liability."

Derek shook his head. "You don't want the bite, Stiles, trust me. You think being a werewolf would've changed things? Gerard still would've taken you. The only difference is you would've ended up chained to the ceiling and electrocuted like Boyd and Erica."

Stiles paled, his eyes suddenly going wide. "Oh my god… Boyd and Erica! What happened to them?! Did they get away?" After all the insanity that had gone down last night, he had somehow completely forgotten about the two betas being held captive in the Argents' basement.

_Worst Batman ever…_

"Word has it Argent let them go. Apparently he and Gerard aren't really seeing eye-to-eye these days."

Stiles did a double take on that one. "Wait, he let them go? Then where are they now?"

Derek scuffed his foot on the floor absently. "Gone. Took off, first chance they got. Can't say I blame them though. I wasn't exactly the best alpha. To be honest, I'm surprised they stayed as long as they did."

"So… Isaac's your only beta now?"

"Actually, word has it he switched to 'team Scott' last night after the other two abandoned ship. So I guess that means I'm back to just me, myself, and I."

"Well, not exactly."

Derek's eyebrows rose, looking almost hopefully.

"There's always Peter."

The werewolf groaned in annoyance. "Don't remind me. The one I keep _trying_ to get rid of is the one who refuses to leave." 

Stiles snickered. "He's like your Greenberg, only more evil. Does this mean you're gonna start turning more high school kids? Or are you planning on leaving town again?"

"Haven't decided yet. I suppose there's not much left for me here. My pack is gone, my family is gone, my house is gone…"

"For what it's worth, you've still got me." Derek's head shot up in surprise and Stiles felt himself blushing. He quickly tried to backtrack his way out of the chick-flick moment he had inadvertently stumbled into. "I mean, I know it's not much, but…"

"It's enough. Thanks."

Stiles' door creaked open and John popped his head back in. "Five minutes are up. You should try to get some more rest, kiddo."

Stiles flopped backwards onto his bed and burrowed deeper into the warmth of his comforter. "Mmm… Gladly."

Derek stood awkwardly, wondering if he should head back out the window or pass Stilinski to take the stairs. John answered that for him.

"Derek? A word?" He crooked a finger at the younger man, beckoning him to join him in the hallway.

Stiles raised himself back up onto an elbow and watched the exchange warily.

Derek nodded at the sheriff, then made his way to Stiles first, grabbing a pillow and sliding it beneath the boy's strained body. When Stiles stared up at him in confusion instead of making use of the offering, Derek rolled his eyes again, put a hand on the kid's shoulder, and pushed him down, carefully but firmly.

Stiles' sore muscles were no match for Derek's brawn and the boy quickly collapsed back onto the mattress, his limbs sprawled and his head now cushioned on his favorite pillow. He blinked heavily a few times, still fighting against the exhaustion threatening to plunge him into darkness.

"Derek, wait… Don' tell…" he began, voice barely strong enough to be heard. His brow furrowed in concentration and discomfort as he focused on the remaining aches in his body to keep himself awake just a little longer.

"Sleep, Stiles," Derek answered back just as softly, then he leeched what was left of the boy's pain through the hand on his shoulder.

Stiles gave up the fight and sank bonelessly into his pillow, nuzzling it with a cheek before going still, his breathing evening out and all traces of discomfort gone from his face.

Derek gently raised Stiles' legs onto the bed and arranged him in a more comfortable looking position. Then he rested his hand against the boy's forehead for a moment to make sure he wasn't overheated, and when his touch was met with cool and clammy skin, he tucked the comforter more tightly around the kid's body like a cocoon before turning off the bedside lamp so Stiles could sleep in peace.

John watched the whole exchange in silence, a warm smile crossing his lips. When Derek met him in the hall as requested, John closed the door quietly so they could talk.

"You're good with him," John admitted, then watched the tension slowly bleed from Derek's stiff shoulders. Clearly, he had been expecting another reprimand instead of a compliment.

"So are you," he responded.

"Nah, he's good with _me_. Always has been."

Derek nodded, unsure what he was supposed to say to that. Thankfully, John switched topics before the silence became too awkward.

"Listen, I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions earlier. You seem like a good guy."

"I try to be. But I guess everyone makes mistakes. Sorry for breaking into your house earlier."

John chuckled. "In hindsight, I'm kinda glad you did. But next time you decide to pay my son a visit…? Use the front door."

Derek smiled. "Yes, sir. And speaking of… I should probably go." He moved past the sheriff and headed for the stairs with a polite nod of his head.

John debated with himself for a moment before calling out to the man's retreating back.

"Hey, Derek?"

Derek stopped and turned back around. "Yeah?"

"Is my son really safe now?"

Derek gave the question serious consideration before answering. He knew Gerard was no longer a threat, but that didn't mean the rest of Beacon Hills wouldn't be gunning for the kid every chance it got.

"For the moment. But I give you my word that I'll do whatever it takes to protect Stiles from here on out. I'll watch out for him."

John's throat closed up at Derek's heart-felt words and all he could do was nod his gratitude. It was nice to know someone had his son's back, especially when John himself couldn't keep an eye on the kid at all times thanks to his demanding job.

Some of the weight lifted off his shoulders and suddenly John didn't feel so alone in the world anymore. He had been raising Stiles by himself for almost half of the kid's life, always terrified he'd screw it up one way or another.

But this mysterious stranger had just sworn to share some of the load, and considering all the weird happenings that seemed to be taking place more frequently in their small town, John was thankful for any and all help that he could get.

With that, Derek was gone, and John happily took first shift in the "protecting Stiles" vigil. He slipped back into his son's room and sat down on the edge of the mattress again, trying his best not to jostle the boy.

Stiles blinked blearily up at him, barely able to keep his eyes open. But he needed to know. He needed to make sure…

"Where's Derek?"

John rubbed a hand up and down Stiles' upper arm in comfort. "He had to go, but something tells me he'll be back."

Stiles smiled weakly, fighting to keep his eyes open when all his body wanted to do was pass out. John cupped the back of his son's neck, the meat of his thumb resting gently over the boy's pulse point for reassurance, and leaned down so he could see his son's face more clearly in the shaded room.

"You sure you're okay, Stiles?"

Stiles untangled his hand from the cocoon of blankets and gave his dad's forearm a gentle squeeze. "I'm fine, Dad. Really."

And for the first time in a long time, the sheriff believed him.

THE OFFICIAL END

Thank you all for reading, and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you can spare the time for a quick review!


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